


all along there was some invisible string (tying you to me)

by cinnamonvibes



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Red String of Fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25541647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamonvibes/pseuds/cinnamonvibes
Summary: “I don’t wear a bracelet, Mon.”“Yeah, you do,” Monica replies without hesitation. She flips Carol’s arm over, easily untying the red string. (How many times had Carol bitterly tried to untie it to no avail?)Small hands slip a silver charm — a tiny butterfly with red and yellow rhinestones dotting the wings that looks similar to Maria’s — through the string. The loop she uses to fasten it back against Carol's wrist is child-like, looking as though it could come undone with the smallest shift of movement.The string has never felt more secure around Carol’s wrist. (red string of fate! au)
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau
Comments: 6
Kudos: 126





	all along there was some invisible string (tying you to me)

**Author's Note:**

> please suspend your belief of everything you know about the red string of fate, because it's got a mind of its own in this. 💝

_**boston** **.**_

Carol is seventeen when she wakes up to find a sliver of red string tied around her left wrist. She spends 30 minutes observing it, delicate fingers exploring the braided material, touch running along the length of the extension that seems to lead out of her door and into infinity. She tugs once... twice… jolting when there’s an equally forceful pull that yanks her hand forward. 

She tries again and this time receives no answer.

-

She notices them everywhere and on everyone after that morning. At school, her chemistry teacher has one with a clean rip that looks as though scissors could have been used, while the lunch lady’s is weathered with age.

It isn’t until she sees two seniors in the hallway, connected by the string, that it makes sense. 

Closed at the ends with a childlike loop, the thread begins at the wrist for both of them, climbing up the length of their arms until it completely constricts around their chest. It cascades like a clothesline in between them when he lifts his hand up to cup her face, bringing her up for a kiss.

-

When she asks her mother about it, the older woman looks at her with genuine confusion. “I don’t wear a bracelet,” she replies, lifting her wrist up. 

Her father walks in, clearly intoxicated, and Carol knows not to ask any more questions. 

(She doesn’t need to, anyway. His string and her mother’s string don’t meet.)

“What’s Carol going on about now?” 

“She just had a question, honey,” her mother says, places an arm on his chest seeking to calm him down. Carol stays quiet, focused on the way the string uncomfortably tightens itself around her mother’s wrist, visible in the way it pinches her skin and cuts at the circulation. 

Something about that angers her.

“Why are you two even _fucking_ together?”

“Carol!” her mother tries as a warning, but it’s too late. Her dad’s already offended. It’s a fighting match, filled with slurs and a loud crack as a bottle hits the wall. 

-

Her feet take her to the town’s central park. The area’s teeming with couples, living a life so vastly different than the one Carol imagines for herself. _Stupid dyke_ plays on repeat in her head, her father’s voice a permanent fixture in her subconscious. 

She wipes at the hot tears that gloss her eyes with the back of her hand, taking a seat on the hard ground with a tree trunk to rest her back on.

Her sniffles are muffled, and she yanks aggressively at the string with her right hand, hoping to rip it off. She finds the knot is tight and small, so much that not even someone with nails could pry it loose.

She throws her head back against the trunk of the tree, defeated.

An hour and a half later, two girls walk a few feet apart from one another, a string seamlessly floating in between them. 

They look in front and behind them — only missing Carol because she’s tucked behind a tree at the far end of the park — before lacing their fingers together and disappearing behind a tree of their own surrounded by a fit of giggles.

(She knows she’s going to be okay.)

_**louisiana.** _

“The red string of fate,” Maria’s grandmother explains, leaning back on her rocking chair with a warm smile on her face, looking down at the children surrounding her, “connects two souls destined to be to be together.” 

Her mother saddles into her father’s side, his arms around her waist. He sways them, not so graciously, side to side to a song only they can hear. The string settles around them blanket-like, the abundance of material having always felt warm against Maria when she’d jump into their arms.

“Does everyone have them?” her little cousin, sitting next to her, eagerly asks. Maria feigns nonchalance, but the hunger in her eyes has always made her grandmother laugh. 

“Yes, but only people with good hearts — people who are open to giving love and receiving love can see them.” 

At twelve years old, Maria doesn’t understand how important that is.

“That shit’s fake,” her other cousin, a smarmy little 13 year old boy who’s missing a tooth (courtesy of Maria) scoffs in response. “I don’t see them, and I’m _good_.”

“Language!” But her grandmother doesn’t falter with the conversation. Just simply laughs, and looks instead at Maria when she answers, “When the time is right, you’ll see it.” 

-

She meets Frank her junior year of high school when he transfers in for his senior year. The ends of their string seem like they could meet, but there’s an excess of material that tangles in between them that Maria can’t see where either string connects. It just piles like a rope at the base of their feet. 

He never mentions it either, but he’s sweet, with handsome eyes and delicate hands that make her feel special, pretty. He kisses her with a passion that echoes the tall tales her grandmother used to sing, the string around her wrist constricting with a warmth she knows resembles the words her mother uses to describe her father. 

And yet, all she feels is guilt. 

-

They have sex because they’re in love, and while Maria goes to church with her parents every Sunday, she isn’t against tangling before marriage when she knows Frank is the one. 

(The day after they have sex she’s jolted awake by a gentle pulling to her wrist. She assumes it’s Frank, but he’s sound asleep, the string in between them noticeably separated for the first time, two red outlines pooling over the edge of Frank’s bed, extending out to different ends of infinity.

With an urgency she didn’t expect from herself, she scrambles to lay up on the bed, yanking hard at the line connected to her wrist and freeing it from layering over Frank’s. 

There’s another pull to hers, but Frank’s awoken by her movements. He rubs at his eyes and sleepily looks around the bed. “Are you knitting?”)

-

She doesn’t anticipate the pregnancy — or the morning sickness, but that’s _another_ story. She doesn’t anticipate how much like rock bottom it feels to see Frank walk the stage, holding the hand of the woman whose string his is connected to when they approach her after the ceremony.

They’re cordial, though. He promises to come back during winter break when she’s due, and send her money for all the routine check-ups. 

They take pictures at his graduation with his hand on her belly, and they both pretend like the entirety of their town isn’t ogling them or whispering behind their backs.

Back in the car, she throws her head back against the headrest, defeated.

Nine months later, Monica Rambeau enters the world, surrounded by just Maria and her parents — Frank’s flight delayed by a harsh winter storm. 

The bundle in her arms gurgles softly, to which Maria comforts with a coo and by delicately pushing back the wisps of black hair on the top of her soft head. Monica responds by opening up her tiny palm, pulling with a baby’s touch at the red string wrapped around her wrist. 

(Maria knows she — _they’re_ — going to be okay.)

**_nevada._ **

Carol enlists in the Air Force immediately after high school and is out of her parent’s home exactly a week after graduation. 

Her roommate’s a nice girl, but she’s quiet and keeps to herself. It drives Carol — who has an incessant need to talk, fuck around, do anything but stay in her room! — crazy. She keeps herself sane by spending most of her time at the bar in the town, creating allies and enemies with the other recruits, working hard during basic training so her physical stature matches the grit of her heart and soul.

And though girls come and go, nothing happens for _years_ with the string around her wrist that she almost forgets it's there. 

There’s no action, not even a slight tug in return when Carol comes home drunk to an empty room, and dramatically yanks at it with both hands like she’s playing tug-of-rope with a 200 pound man.

-

On her 22nd birthday, Pancho’s is packed with all the usual suspects. Carol gets added attention in the shape of an extra beer from the bartender who knows she’s celebrating.

“Hey,” says a woman so beautiful that even through her mildly bleary eyes Carol notices her. The woman raises an eyebrow, gives her a megawatt smile, and points to the extra glass in front of her. “Waiting for someone?”

“Yeah, _you_ ,” Carol smoothly lays out. She faintly notices the way her string goes crazy, the loose threads electrified as though they’ve been charged with static, going taut as the distance in between them shortens and — 

“ _Maria_ ,” she introduces herself, takes a seat on the stool next to Carol, wrapping fingers around the base of the extra beer to pull it closer to her. “That line was mac.”

“What does that mean?” Carols asks, brown eyes glued to the string that connects them both, now laying flat on the bar counter in between them.

“Mac ‘n’ **_cheese_** ,” Maria returns, sending them both into a fit of laughter.

(The ice is shattered after that.)

Carol learns that Maria Rambeau is the new recruit Lawson personally requested to move out to Nevada from a Louisiana base for her budding expertise in aeronautics. Moving to Nevada had been Maria’s first step in taking ownership of her life, proving to herself that she could be someone without her parent’s help. 

The blonde had been hand-selected for her flying. _“And smarts_!” Carol defends herself, feeling a buzz so vibrant even alcohol could not compare. “I’m not some dumb jock.”

Whether guided by the beer or the string, Maria’s fingers inch close to Carol’s forearm, running up against the curve of Carol’s bicep. Her feather light touch accented by the material of the red string falling from Maria’s own wrist. 

“Coulda fooled me,” she says sweetly, making Carol noticeably gulp. 

Before Carol could formulate a response, the spell between them is broken by a drunken man getting right in between them. He ignores Carol, leaning sloppily on his side against the bar counter, directing his attention entirely on Maria. He sways as he makes a stupid joke, mentioning the color of Maria’s skin offensively. He has the audacity to ask her if she wants to dance.

He’s seconds away from setting Carol off, but Maria’s quicker than them both. She stands up, pretends like she’s going to walk with him, and takes advantage of his weak stance to trip him with her foot. 

If Carol wasn’t looking so intensely, she too would have assumed he just fell. 

With a large smile on her face, Maria steps over his body and into Carol’s space. “Air would be nice, huh?”

— x — 

They’re inseparable after that night, friendly banter coming easily between them. There’s a tension they won’t acknowledge yet, but Maria won’t ask and won’t tell for so, **_so_ ** many reasons.

Her grandmother’s words echo in her head, and she isn’t sure if Carol is even aware there’s a string fastened around her wrist that connects directly to Maria’s. 

(Plus, Lawson is the first person in Maria’s existence that she has ever met **without** a red string, so she doesn’t want to be the odd one out in their wondrous trio.)

-

Carol meets Monica after two weeks of working together, and immediately captures the young girl’s heart with her knowledge of superheroes and video games.

“You’re not allowed to rot my child’s brain,” Maria chides, unplugging the Nintendo Entertainment System from her tv, causing both Carol and Monica to yowl in disbelief. 

“ _Mariaaaaa_ —” Carol whines, making Maria’s stomach flip. “—Donkey Kong is informative!” 

The taller woman raises an eyebrow in question.

Carol scoops Monica in strong, muscular arms, “flying” her in the direction of her mother, now by the kitchen. “For example, what kinda snacks does Donkey Kong eat, Mon?” 

“Bananas!” the girl happily proclaims as she’s put on the ground. 

“And what snack are we gonna share, Mon?” Carol looks at Monica with a love Maria could have never anticipated.

“A banana!” And because Monica has the manners of her mother, she adds, “Please? With peanut butter!”

-

Carol leaves around 11pm, and Maria stops by Monica’s room on the way to her own. When she peeks her head in, there’s a subtle hue of light coming from underneath Monica’s sheets, the bulge of her clearly awake daughter obvious.

“If you’re playing with that little handheld thingy Carol had earlier, you’re **_both_ ** going to be in so much trouble!” Maria says, though her voice is airy, holding no actual reprimand. She sneaks in, gripping at the blanket to unveil a giggling Monica using a flashlight to read a Wonder Woman comic. (Also a gift from Carol.)

“Carol said I could keep it during the summer when there was no school.” Something about that makes Maria’s heart flutter. She plucks the comic book from Monica, and takes residence in the girl’s bed alongside her, back to the headboard. 

Holding the comic book in between them, Maria and Monica make silly voices for the villains and even punch the air for added effect to _really_ get the bad guys. 

They’re almost near the end of the book when Monica yawns and throws an arm around Maria’s middle, settling into her side. Sleepily, she asks, “Can I have a bracelet like yours and Carol’s, mommy?”

The string on her wrist feels constricting in that moment, a gentle tug pulling at her heart instead. 

Maria longs her for her grandmother then — buried on the same plot with her grandfather, caskets wrapped with red string, spilling to the side to connect them forever. 

It’s not the perfect time to continue the tradition, but the right time, “Do you wanna know what they mean, honey?”

— x —

A month later and Carol cannot believe someone like Maria trusts _her_ enough to babysit Monica. They’re out on the patio, Carol checking the movie listings in the newspaper while Monica messes around with beads and a cheap jewelry kit. 

Randomly, she sits next to Carol and demands to see her bracelet.

“I don’t wear a bracelet, Mon.”

“Yeah, you do,” Monica replies without hesitation. She reaches forward, gripping Carol’s forearm with a grasp that would not be normal from any other five year old, but Monica is far from average. She flips Carol’s arm over, easily untying the red string. (How many times had Carol bitterly tried to untie it to no avail?)

Small hands slip a silver charm — a tiny butterfly with red and yellow rhinestones dotting the wings that looks similar to Maria’s — through the string. The loop she uses to fasten it back against Carol's wrist is child-like, looking as though it could come undone with the smallest shift of movement. 

The string has never felt more secure around Carol’s wrist.

-

That night, Monica gets put to bed at 9:30, and Carol shows no indication of leaving Maria’s home anytime soon. Maria doesn’t make any moves to shoo her out, either.

They share a bottle of wine and stand around in the kitchen, Carol’s lower back against the counter, watching as Maria shuffles with the cabinets, putting spices away. 

Curiously, Carol’s fingers touch at the string on her wrist, playing with the charm that now dangles from it. Eventually her fingers fall past the loop holding it together to the length of the string as it extends past her to meet with Maria. 

Using her thumb and index finger, Carol yanks with more force than necessary, watching as the string bounces up and down with her ferocity before reaching Maria’s end, making her hand bob from exertion. 

Maria turns her head quickly, almost startled, dropping her gaze to her wrist, acknowledging the pull. 

Their eyes meet.

“ ** _Yes_**!” Carol squeals childishly. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

A laugh leaves Maria, and she combats, “Why didn’t **_you_ ** tell me?!”

“Would you have believed me?!”

“Well, _yes_!”

“ ** _No_**! If I had said… Maria, I know we just met, but there’s an invisible string between us that connects us, and I think it means you’re my soulmate…” Carol finds her lips curling into an upward smile, giddy. “You woulda said, ‘Carol, that’s _mac_.’”

Maria’s in Carol’s space now, closing the distance by taking both her hands. The string short in between them, only the jingle of their charms colliding ringing between them. “‘N’ Cheese?”

“You do make a great Mac ‘n’ cheese.” 

Their noses are touching now, Carol’s breath short from anticipation. She’s been waiting for this _forever_.

“Because I use real ingredients, not boxed, Carr.”

“Are you gonna kiss me or not?”

“You do know **_I’ve_ ** made every first move, right?” 

The blonde looks ready to interject, so Maria rolls her eyes, cups Carol’s face with both hands and kisses her. 

-

Carol moves in that same month, much to Monica’s happiness. Maria’s surprised by how quick Carol assimilates into her — _their_ — life. 

Maria cooks and Carol washes the dishes; Carol fixes the leaky plumbing and Maria hands her the tools necessary; Monica gets sick and Carol rubs her back, while Maria gives her a spoonful of medicine.

They stargaze from the balcony and drink wine, discussing whether or not Lawson is an alien.

(“Have you ever met someone _without_ a string?” Carol had questioned.

Maria had rolled her eyes and simply said, “Come back to earth, space cadet.”)

And re-visit the argument of who made the first, _real_ move in their relationship.

(“I spent years pulling on it, and **_you_ ** never responded!” Carol huffs.

Maria — who had also made the first move to pull Carol into bed two weeks ago — just lets her keep jabbering. She uses her height and strength to push Carol back against the bed, dropping to her knees and gripping the back of both of Carol’s thighs to pull her to the edge of the bed. 

The red string is vibrant against Carol’s pale skin, Maria’s arm over her stomach to hold her body down. “Maybe your scrawny pre-teen arms couldn’t pull hard enough,” she jokes, peppering kisses against the inside of Carol’s thigh. 

Carol rolls her eyes, both from the ministrations and Maria’s teasing jab. 

She gasps out, “I’ll show you scrawny…”

-

Later that night, underneath the sheets and covered in red string that shows just how tangled they were, Carol whispers, “I love you.” 

Maria smiles back, rubs her thumb against the expanse of Carol’s skin and replies, “Saying I love you first is the mac ‘n’ cheesiest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Shut up!”

“I love you too.”)

There’s no doubt from either of them they’re going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> in case the title didn't give it away, taylor swift literally pulled this out of me. i've always wanted to write a red string of fate fic, but could never find a ship worth it!! i'm toying with the idea of a part 2, following canon captain marvel, but wanted you guys to have a happy ending for now. :) if you liked this, feel free to leave some kudos + comments, and follow me on twitter for more captain marvel musing @dykeyvibes.


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